


Revealed

by fratcalum



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Planned and planned until I cried, Sinner!5SOS, This is gonna be fun to write haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fratcalum/pseuds/fratcalum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton Irwin was brought into the gang at a very young age. He was found huddled up in an alleyway, struggling to grasp warmth and mercy from the harsh winter day. After running away from home, he was convinced his life wasn't going to get any better. He'd stay cloaked in ratty clothes, with food from garbage cans as his only source of nutrition. However, when introduced to the very best gang of troublemakers, his life turned around - flipped upright to face a direction he didn't think he'd face. </p><p>One morning after one of his multiple successful drug runs, his boss assigns him a task he hasn't accomplished in a while - conning. Conning the daughter of Alex Portland, the rich and powerful CEO of Portland Industries is not going to be an easy task, but Ashton's determined. Determined to con her flawlessly, he's stuck at the crossroads and confused by bumps along the way that force him to open his eyes. The stretch between love and hate makes him see the path of life he hadn't chosen when given the chance years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Task

**Author's Note:**

> This story is somewhat similar to the AU, Sinner!5SOS. It's related to the idea of Ashton, Luke, Michael, and Calum showing their 'darker' side and doing things that are illegal or so unlike them that you could consider them sins. The twist is they're a part of the same gang hahaa enjoy enjoy enjoy bby!

“Ashton!” a gravely voice yells from downstairs.

Groaning, I roll around on my bed for quite some time. Once my name is yelled again, I come to the conclusion that staying in bed isn’t the best option. Finally sitting up, I sigh heavily. “Yeah?” I shout back. I twist my body until my gaze lands on the alarm clock. Seeing myself that it’s two minutes shy of seven o’clock in the morning, I angrily throw the covers off of me. Though not out of the ordinary, it’s still too early for this bullshit.

“Come down here for a second!” the impatient voice demands. I roll my eyes, suddenly regretting the decision to crash at the warehouse instead of taking the extra ten minutes to drive home. The warehouse isn’t exactly a warehouse, however. It’s only labeled as such because the entire gang couldn’t think of anything better to call it. Plus, ‘warehouse’ sounds more badass than just ‘house,’ in my opinion. In reality, it’s a regular house that’s definitely seen its better days. I guess the warehouse and my house aren’t at all different.

I went to bed last night expecting another assignment, as usual, because I successfully finished one yesterday. That’s how it is for me. I finish one mission and zoom to the next. I'm never sedentary, never allowed any free time. Frankly, I don’t mind. Whenever I can get my hands dirty, I’ll seize the moment.

My tired bones and sore muscles still haven’t adjusted to the mild activity of hopping down a set of stairs, seeing as they went through the physically demanding actions of kicking and punching hours earlier. “What do you need, Jared?” I ask while walking towards the man who, five years ago, nearly kicked me out of the gang for not being able to shoot a gun properly.

“How’d it go last night?” he replies, dismissing my original question. I shrug lazily, joining him on the couch and rubbing the harsh aftereffects of a four-hour sleep from my droopy eyes.

“Better than expected,” I rasp, staring down at the dried blood surrounding the rough bumps on my knuckles.

“How so?” Jared further interrogates. I stay silent with the full awareness of his impatience for the action. My undivided attention focuses on my hands, every scar and healed bruise plaguing my flesh, instead of the real task at hand.

The quiet morning catches up to me, and I reply before Jared chooses to yell right in my ear, “Let me show you.” Confidence overwhelms me, the smirk on my face clearly giving it away. At the strong presence of my arrogance, Jared chuckles lowly while I bound back up the stairs to the bedroom I’d left barely two minutes ago. The smirk never falters as I open the top left drawer of the mahogany dresser, fish out the wad of carefully stacked cash, and rush back downstairs to throw it down on Jared’s lap. Most of the money lands on the floor, to no one's surprise; Jared gasps, eyes widening at the product of my expertise.

“Holy fucking shit,” Jared breathes out. Hurriedly, he collects the cash and cradles it in his arms. “This looks like a lot more than what I’d asked for.”

“That’s because it is, boss,” I admit. My smirk grows wider - so wide that the curled tip of my mouth can touch my ear.

Jared admires the money, the pride aiming towards me pricking at my rough skin. “This is why I send you out to do the drug trafficking. You never disappoint.” Once more, I sit down and position myself comfortably next to him.

I prepare myself to bask in my glory, and Jared’s words wrap around my brain tightly to kickstart it. "It was pretty easy, aactually,” I begin. I lift my hands up, palm facing outwards, to expose the story of last night’s events. Of course, Jared is unimpressed by the bloody and bruised marks staining my knuckles. With more than thirty (maybe thirty-five) years worth of experience under his belt, nothing surprises him anymore. He has witnessed every possible trick in the book, with his own tired eyes, not to mention. He’s a man that demands respect without having to lift a single finger. “The two men showed clear signs of drug withdrawal. Over one or two months with no drugs can fuck someone up, man,” I explained. The constant pleading and begging from the two men - the two grown men - started to replay in my head, and I burst out into laughter.

“Tell me about it,” Jared mumbles. “What’d you do to get so much fucking money, Ashton?”

“Firstly, I went through standard procedure. I asked them where they got the money. They were fucking idiots and wouldn’t tell me, so I pointed the gun at one guy’s head.”

“Was that guy Antonio? Short, kind of fat? Black hair that’s thinning?” interrupts Jared.

I nod my head in confirmation. “’He’s the one.”

Jared cackles, then chugs a long swig of the beer that somehow found its way into the palm of his large, calloused hand. “Fucking idiot.”

“Definitely,” I agree. “But, anyways, Antonio finally confessed to me that they conned married women for their money to pay for the drugs. According to the other guy, they used one of the simplest get-rich-quick schemes, and both of the women fell for it. As you know, we weren’t involved in anything, so I got the money you asked for directly from them.”

“Damn… I’m surprised you got all this information out of ‘em,” Jared compliments. I shrug in response, my best judgement whispering to me that I shouldn’t overreact in any way. Both Jared and I understand very well that this progress report isn’t something Jared hasn’t heard before. Although, I’ve never actually gotten such a full story out of anyone I’ve trafficked with. To say simply, I’m as proud as Jared is of myself. “How the fuck did you get the extra money then?”

“Well, boss, when I got that money, the other guy attacked me as soon as I pulled the gun away from Antonio’s head. I knocked him out cold, then I knocked Antonio out. I didn’t shoot them, though.” The line between confidence and cockiness blurs and meshes into the thicket of emotion already yearning for my attention. I lift my hands up again, squeezing them into tight fists and imitating the memories of Antonio’s pale, desperate face slamming against them. “I knew they were lying when they said the money they gave me was all the money they had. So I scoped the house out before they woke up. I managed to find a hefty four thousand bucks hidden in their kitchen cabinet.”

“Antonio, that fucking idiot,” he repeats. We laugh in unison for an extended amount of time, but Jared breaks the bond when he reaches for the briefcase, the torn leather hungry for the cash it’s been anticipating.

Jared’s hand shake with pure excitement as he stuffs the drug money into the suitcase. I smile, reminiscing the moments before this in which Jared dragged me along on drug runs so I could learn first-hand how to handle such a task. “Did you only need the report from me, or is there something else? I see you have your laptop out, and that usually means you’re planning something.”

I hover over him with the default knowledge that he’ll ignore me until his precious money is stacked precisely and safely inside his beloved briefcase. Irritation gets the best of me, so I hit him upside the head; thankfully, that gets his attention. “Hey, boy, you better watch it. I’m your boss, and I can fire your ass in an instant.”

“You won’t, and you know that,” I comment. Jared, like I knew he would, goes right back to organizing the drug money to utter perfection. I groan outwardly, not ashamed of my obvious impatience. “What else do you fucking need, Jared?” I press.

Before responding, he places the briefcase on the cushion of the tattered chair beside the couch and sighs with satisfaction under his tongue. “Well, it won’t be anything new to you, Ash.”

“Is it another drug run?” I ask. Part of me wishes it isn’t, even though drug runs are my specialty. I can do one with my eyes closed. Hell, I can do one in my sleep. Sometimes hauling around horrifically large orders of drugs in exchange for a motherlode gets rather repetitive.

“No, it isn’t.” At his denial, I was slightly disappointed. His positive criticism regarding yesterday’s mission is one I’ll cherish forever, but my chances of not meeting the experienced man’s expectations for the next mission are outrageously heightened now.

“What is it?”

My question propels my boss to reach for the laptop and place it on his lap. He doesn’t open it, though. “Do you know who Alex Portland is?”

At the sound of his name, my eyes widen, fear so massive I can wrap it up like a present and hand it to Jared. “Alex Portland? The CEO of Portland Industries, Alex Portland?” I reiterate. My heart suddenly feels constricted nestled inside of my ribcage, thumping against it so ferociously that my bones could break into a million pieces.

“Yeah, that Alex Portland,” Jared confirms.

“If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to kill that bastard, you’re-”

Jared stops me, “No, no, I don’t want you to kill him.”

“Holy shit, really? Thank God,” I breathe out. Though that tiny bit of news is beneficial to me, it definitely isn’t enough to calm my heart rate down. The noise of my heart struggling to become comfortable with such confinement pounds in my ears, and I cringe at the intense sensation.

“Here, look at this,” Jared suggests, finally opening up the laptop. The laptop jolts awake, the screen bright and promising. Minutes after Jared’s mindless typing and clicking, a high-quality picture of a girl pops up with a simple tap of a button. Out of subconscious habit, I speedily conjure a mental image of her every facial feature into my brain, meant to last forever and never fade from my memory.

“Okay, so how does this picture of a hot girl pertain to Alex?” I ask. He obviously isn’t showing this picture to me for laughs and giggles. She appears rather harmless, so I can eliminate the possibility of her being involved in gang activity. She has a thin face, showing no visual evidence of bruises or cuts. From that information, I can assume she’s never been in any fist fights. To be completely honest, this girl, from physical appearance alone, looks as if the hardest thing she’s done in her life is break a nail. Perplexed enough, I stop trying to fill the increasingly large voids in this situation. Too many questions, not enough answers. More agonizingly silent minutes pass through the space separating us, so I decide not to cross the line more than I already have. I stay silent as Jared examines the girl carefully, even more carefully than I.

“Well, this is Alyssa Portland. She’s Alex’s daughter,” Jared explains slowly, as if, with great precaution, he had to pick and choose what words he’d speak.

Hesitance bites at my tongue when I ask the question in dire need of a one-word answer, “Do I have to kill her instead of Alex?”

Jared groans, the annoyance rolling off his tongue as easily as the lyrics of his favorite song. The pitch of the noise from the aged man indicates that he’s restraining himself from punching the stupidity out of my system. “For fuck’s sake, I- no! No, you don’t have to kill her, you dumbass. Ashton…” Quickly, he breathes out the sentences he dare not say to me. “you do know how powerful Alex is, right? He’s rich and can buy the entire damn world if he tried.”

“I know that. But what’s up with this Alyssa chick?” I ask, my comprehension skills slightly dull. Even though I pounded both Antonio and the other guy to a pulp last night, they could throw quite a punch. They didn’t hesitate to hit wherever they knew would hurt the most. I may have left that traffick with more money than expected, but I also left with more bruises than expected. You win some, and you lose some.

“She’s your next target.”

That simple phrase was the missing element to completing my thinking process. From there, it didn’t take long for me to understand exactly what Jared has just assigned to me. I lick my lips and enthusiastically shake his hand. There are more things I’m capable of than just drug trafficking.

“Leave it to me, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://www.fratcal.tumblr.com%22)


	2. Doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to learn a little bit more about some of the characters! Are you excited? Enjoy enjoy enjoy bby xx

For some reason, the more I think about Alyssa, the more I realize how much of a waste of time she'll be.

"I just think that she won't be worth my time," I confess, not a single blend of emotion being accentuated in the words.

Michael looks astonished; his words exposed that, "Mate, she's the daughter of a powerful, rich businessman. How the hell can you say that?" 

"First of all, look at her," I say, while pointing to the photo on the computer screen, bright and happy. "I'm smart enough to know she's barely lifts a single finger in order to get what she wants. Her nails are manicured and her body is toned, proving she could be obsessed with vanity - never a good thing. Also her complexion is nothing less than perfect, which clearly shows how involved she is in outward appearance. Not to mention, her clothes don't look like they came from any thrift shop."

"What does that all mean then, Ash? If she's so self-absorbed, then she's probably naive and innocent, easy to wrap around your finger. I'm sure she'll fall for any trick you pull on her," Luke reassures.

I sigh. I don't know if I believe him. How you look physically can be deceiving - the most important lesson I've learned from Jared. Alyssa seems too perfect, like she was the head cheerleader at her school who'd dated every single jock swarming near her. Nothing about her is exotic, but that doesn't necessarily mean everything else is as bland. From one picture alone, I can't set every inference in stone.

Her hair is a honey brown color, bangs pinned back with a dark blue bow in the picture. Her facial shape is rounded to sharpen her jawline, and her cheekbones are high, yet rather subtle compared to the natural pout of her lips. Her eyes are atypical, for they're naturally hooded, with a slight upturned fashion to them. Though her individual features appear unusual, blending all of them with her untanned skin lessens their importance. She's an average beauty, a beauty that tries so hard to look different that she's permanently the opposite. If she spends a lot of time making sure her outward self is stellar, then her personality and morality could be stubborn enough not to be compromised.

"Well, Luke, if she's really as selfish as I think she is, then I'm pretty sure she'll believe herself to be too high and mighty to fall for a thug like me," I point out. Luke shrugs, not willing to see my idea of the story. All Luke ever sees is the money at the end of the mission.

"Well, maybe she's looking for a thug like you to add some danger in her boring-ass life." I think about that for a millisecond, but deny it immediately. "Plus she's hot, and smart too,” Calum adds.

I read over the information Jared had gathered about Alyssa and speak it aloud to the lads, “She’s twenty-years-old, attending the University of Sydney. She’s in the undergraduate program, obviously." Something, however, didn't fit in well with her status. "What’s weird though is that she isn't studying anything related to business, yet her father’s is the CEO of an extremely successful business."

“What is she studying then?” Calum asks. He is as baffled as I am. Calum and I usually bash heads on the tiniest matters, so I cherish every moment possible in which we agree with one another.

When I saw her field of study, my eyebrows furrowed. “Apparently, she's working towards a bachelor’s degree in social work. She’s in her second year of studies, and hasn't changed her major at all. She must be damn serious about it.”

“Okay, so what’s important about that?” Michael chimes in. As they furrow, his dark eyebrows contrast his platinum blond hair.

“It’s fair to assume she only chose social work to break out of her family’s mold, to rebel,” Luke says, the raising of his pitch exposing his uncertainty.

“Not really,” I disagree. “I think she’s more than willing to hide in the shell her family’s created for her. It's possible her family told her to study something other than business to expand the family's power to different branches. She grew up sheltered, so she will never say no to what they want her to do.”

“No shit, she grew up sheltered, Ashton," Luke spats. "All I'm saying is, if I grew up like her, I’d probably hate it. Maybe she does too."

“Yes, Luke, but you are an Australian criminal who hacks into computer systems and creates massive breaches in security set-ups. You aren’t pampered little princess born into a rich family who created a business from the ground, up,” I comment. “For a girl who looks as pampered as she does, I’d say she fucking loves being a spoiled little brat.”

Luke opens his mouth to stir up more trouble for himself, but decides against it. That surprises me. 

Luke’s the smartest one in the entire group - one thing unanimously agreed upon - but will choose risk over safety at any moment. The lad who can control every single electronic from his musty Toshiba laptop, he is; to be frank, he’s a damned genius. He grew up better than the rest of us, the loopholes and tricks to computer systems right under his fingertips ever since he got his hands on his first laptop. Both of his parents were around when he was younger, and they tried to convince him to spend time on his schoolwork rather than on the computer.

Little did they know that Luke craved danger, and still does. Luke never gets tired of experiencing the glorified high after successfully controlling every nook and cranny of a residence or business, completely unnoticed. Unnoticed, yet crazy enough to push to the edge of making himself known.

“What else do you have on this girl?” Michael questions.

I scroll through the length paragraphs of information and try to summarize it to the best of my ability, “Uh, born and raised in Sydney… As a teenager, she went to an all-girl’s private school.”

Calum snickers. “Talk about school girl fantasies.”

I scowl, not amused by his horrible jokes. They've always been shitty. Ignoring the compressed laughter within the other three guys, I continue skimming through the unnecessary details. Nothing else needs to be said. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” 

“Besides the money throne this chick’s on, she’s not that interesting,” Luke mumbles. 

“Honestly, I think that you shouldn't back down on this one. This’ll be an easy con for you, Ashton. You are the master, anyways,” encourages Michael. 

I run my hand through my hair, push it away from my forehead. “I guess… but I feel like I’m missing something about this girl. I hate surprises, and Alyssa’s the last girl I want them from.”

“You’ll be okay,” Calum assures pointlessly.

They all get up, leaving me alone with my own doubts. Resting my head in my hands, I think of whether or not Alyssa’s going to be worth the effort.

_There was a pounding at the door, waking me up from a nap. With blurry eyes, I saw my mother rush in. “Hurry, h- hide somewhere, please!” she whispered loudly, wide-eyed and panicked._

_“Mom, what’s going on?” I asked, the clash of fists-to-wood ringing in my ears._

_“Your father, he’s, um… he’s home, and n- not for the right reasons. Mommy will take care of this, okay? Just hide under the bed, okay? It’ll be okay. I’ll deal with him, I promise. I just want you t- to be safe.”_

_Without another word, she waited until I squeezed under my bed and ran out of my bedroom. 'It'll be okay. It'll be okay,' what I wished I never would hear. Hearing that is a good indication that nothing will be okay. I had always been aware of my father’s rage, his sensitive temper. I had also dealt with the aftereffects of his excessive drinking: bruises were still healing to prove that. My mind was swarming, imagining the worst case-scenarios of what would occur in a room I was forbidden to enter at that moment._

_It was silent._

_My breathing was the only thing I could hear once my mom unlocked the door and opened it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://www.fratcal.tumblr.com)
> 
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> 
> Also it'd be so amazing if you would [request anything you'd like me to write!](http://www.fratcal.tumblr.com/ask)

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://www.fratcal.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also it'd be so amazing if you would [request anything you'd like me to write!](http://www.fratcal.tumblr.com/ask)


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